


Unmoored

by isadora_drunken



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:11:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isadora_drunken/pseuds/isadora_drunken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maleficent suffers flashbacks with Aurora, finding bits of Stefan in her face and mannerisms. Aurora summons her own latent domliness and helps Maleficent to catharsis with sweet, sweet D/s sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

With Diaval, it was easy.

When she was bored, or yearning, or just altogether empty, she could bind him down, smother him with her cloaks and her want. She could inflame her cunt against his tightly turned body. Only let him enter her when he was well and truly aching. He had said anything she asked, after all, and what she asked in those moments was to feel like a beast again. A creature of blood and brush and bone and feather, once again steering nature with a single whim. Not a faery crudely chiseled to a human woman’s likeness. She asked _please, let me bring something precious to its whimpering limits, just to prove I can_ , and he sighed and obliged.

She didn’t bother with the after. She did up her robes and swept away with him still gasping. This wasn’t intimacy. It was assertion. Not domesticity but dominion.

Let him find his own way back to sanity; she needed to lick her wounds. To mourn the phantom her climax had dissolved. She would never soar again. Not until the next time she growled him down.

With Diaval, it was harsh and clear, cleanly carved along the lines of duty and pain.

With Aurora, things changed.

She had fought it. Oh, she’d fought it. _She’s a human. She’s his spawn. She’s his filthy human seed made manifest in light, and I will not be fooled._ It wasn’t until the coronation’s cheer had dwindled and the two sat alone by marshlight that the feeling roared into absolute, unassailable fact: she had fallen madly in love with the girl. And lo! the girl - the filthy human ray of perfect sunshine - felt the same.

“Don’t call me Godmother,” Maleficent purred, when their lips nudged apart at last. “I’ll call you,” growled the girl, her eyes dancing, “whatever I damn well please.”

But in the morning it was wrong. By day Aurora’s face was made of all-too-familiar angles. Her breath and her gait and her hands on Maleficent’s waist stank of the seed that had made her. The meadows she wandered, the paths she beckoned Maleficent down, had been trod much too freshly by her father’s filthy feet.

“I love you,” Aurora said. She was still light incarnate, even while Maleficent could barely breathe. She tucked her minikin hands against Maleficent’s waist, crawling upward toward her breasts, her wiry shoulders. Maleficent was still, still, barely feeling, barely thinking, bating her breath for where Aurora’s hands might suddenly find themselves. Waiting for those innocent fingers’ collision with what had so recently been a jag of scar...

_...and Aurora’s fingers were knives and her face was her father’s and Maleficent’s wings were thrashing, prepared to carry her far, far away from another violation..._

Maleficent had made love to Stefan, or a sour approximation of love. Her sixteenth-birthday kiss had brewed something reckless in their bellies. Soon she lay in the moss, lips and wings alike spread for lusty purchase. She took him in twofold. He’d shuddered when he came, but not near as much as when her pitch-dark feathers nudged his chest closer to hers. She understood: the one was just a cunt; the other, her very self. She wondered when last somebody had touched him.

He’d made her moan, once. He’d made her moan and squirm and she’d folded him into her soft pinions in gratitude, and then he had taken them.

On the last night, his last retreat from the land of men, he’d dozed with his head between her thighs. She stroked his chin, his neck, his heavy shoulders with one inky feather. He sank into her heat and softness, his eager tongue grateful as ever. Had he known then? Did he know he would choose his own conscience over her extraordinary grief?

And now his daughter stood slim and tall, ready to walk the same path with her mouth and her hands. She was so soft. She didn’t seem capable. But neither had he.

And Maleficent howled. “Don’t touch them! Keep away, you...you...oath-breaker! I know what’s coming, and I’ll be miles away!”

On the last word her voice dissolved. Dimly she felt Aurora’s hands gripping hers, her face leaning earnestly closer until both were wet with Maleficent’s tears. Slowly her world eased back to her would-be lover’s hands and hair and smile.

The Moors flickered back into being. The malice she’d imagined in Aurora’s face melted away, leaving concern of the highest, sweetest order. It rent Maleficent all over again, to think of the storm this girl had madly chosen to love, the million ways that love would break her before breakfast. Aurora deserved a human. A tender young thing who could mirror her sunlight and her wonder at the world. Not a brooding faery who’d been hacked and hardened and stitched tentatively back to what would never be wholeness. Aurora deserved a future, and the Moors deserved an unsullied, unburdened Queen.

“Godmother,” said Aurora, “I love you. That I can promise.”

And Maleficent sobbed again, this time with selfish relief. Aurora kissed her hands, her collarbone, the tip of each horn. She kept away from the wings.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Maleficent woke by Aurora’s side, her head cradled between the girl’s knees. Daylight had broken. Maleficent rose to her own knees. Aurora was dozing, her fingers still petting, even in sleep, the place where her lover’s horned head had been.

Maleficent’s heart swelled with watery gratitude for the blonde sprite in the moss before her. Sleeping again, but this time by choice. She had borne so much for her age and her humanity. The fact that she could love, and steadfastly at that, the person who had consigned her to such woe was nothing short of miraculous.

Maleficent left the girl where she lay. As soft as she could, with nary a rustle, she loped away to the falls. She would sit, and she would bathe her nervous body, and she would think.

That night she donned her finest dress. She plaited her hair with goldenrod, a nod to her lover’s own tastes. She bade Diaval turn away any visitors, and she swept off to where she knew Aurora would wait.

And there she was in silks, her face bright and gay by marshlight. She might have been faery herself, in the way that some human women glow. Or girls, really - the tendency seemed to thin with age, but Maleficent had a feeling Aurora would merely shine ever brighter. She would be old and grey and stooped with a face that still radiated stubbornly.

Aurora rose from her mossy perch. Her skirts rippled like opening petals. Maleficent moved toward the girl’s smile, without thought, without agency. No words, only radiance.

Aurora took Maleficent’s proffered hand in both of hers. “Godmother! Oh, I _knew_ it.”

“Hello, beastie.” The honorific stuck in Maleficent’s throat; she was suddenly shy.

“Walk with me, Godmother?”

“As you wish.”

The younger woman crooked her elbow into the faery’s own, and they set off into the thickets of their home.

It was several minutes before Aurora spoke.

“Godmother?”

“Yes, my beastie?”

“I...I know that he’s in me. My father. And I hate that he is. I hate _what_ he is. I am so, so sorry.”

“Beastie, you don’t have to be.”

“I know that. I know it isn’t my fault. I didn’t choose my blood, and I didn’t choose to love the woman he...he…”

“You don’t have to say it.”

“He... _brutalized_! Oh, you must see him in my face every single day.”

The women were silent. Maleficent unhooked her elbow. She was suddenly cold.

“I want to make it up to you,” Aurora continued.

“Flog yourself for your father’s sins? I wouldn’t allow it.”

“Godmother…” Aurora halted her step. She swivelled to face Maleficent and reached for the faery’s shoulders. “I know I’ll never take away what he did. I don’t think I can try, even. It would be an insult to you and your power. I’m just a human girl, and yes, I want to be special to you, but..."

“Oh, Aurora…” Maleficent’s voice was thick. “I could never ask you - ”

“You haven’t asked me a thing.” The girl bent forward and took Maleficent’s spindly hand in both of hers. “I _want_ this, Godmother. I want to know you and soothe you and heal you. After all the sweetness you’ve given me! All the protection! I want you to feel as safe in my arms as I do in yours.”

She must have read Maleficent’s face, for she stiffened and her pretty nostrils flared. “Do you take me for some blushing wench? I have known love. I have grown up bathed in it, and I have more than enough to give. And you’re the one I’ve chosen, Maleficent. Every vein and scrap of you, every heartbeat. I want the creature I love to be whole again. As powerful as you deserve to be, darling.”

Her voice softened. She dipped her chin low, averting her eyes, and smiled bashfully. She was a sun, Maleficent thought, realizing - she was dawn and dappled afternoons and the clarity of high-summer beams. A sun can be sharp and soft at once. Aurora had a glimmer of toughness inside her, a glint of plain, fierce love. Maleficent had been a fool, she knew now. Her beastie had shed the trappings of childhood. Time and tragedy had whittled, in their place, a beautiful woman with stars in her eyes and a song on her tongue. Aurora could be strong without losing what made her tender, and Maleficent loved and envied her for it.

Aurora drew a deep breath. “Come to the glen tomorrow night,” she commanded, but gently. “I’ll be waiting.”

She smoothed her skirts. They trailed as she began to walk away. She paused, catching Maleficent’s hands in her own. “We’ll put him to rest for good. I promise you that.”

Her skirts slid over roots and divets, inflamed by a lambent moon.


	3. Chapter 3

Maleficent sat by the wallerbogs’ pond until the wee hours. Her limbs were heavy with all and nothing. As dawn began to break, a swoop of blackness alighted from the pinkening sky. The pond rippled at his arrival, and Maleficent raised her head. “Into a man.”

Diaval bent to share the moss with his mistress. “Someone must’ve been sweet to you today,” he teased. “Why else would you look so sour?”

He knew her too well, that lowly bird. She managed a hard smile, sour indeed. They’d lived side by side for sixteen years. They shared a past and a home and a stern, straight-faced camaraderie. Their lives were written in each other’s blood, especially since he’d soared to her aid in Stefan’s castle. Maleficent would never say the words, but she would do anything for Diaval. He’d been her wings once.

She must have let a sigh escape her, for Diaval raised his rakish brows.

“Let me guess. She’s too much like her father. She’s his child, and that’s all you can see when you look at her. Forget those beautiful hands and that tender face. She’s the daughter of that monkey-brained goon, and that’s all she’s ever going to be.”

“You talk as though you’re in love with her yourself.”

“Of course I am. Who isn’t? But you’re the only one she loves back, at least that way. She’s more loyal than the sun, that one.”

“You’ve put some thought into this.”

“What do you take me for? As though I wouldn’t scope out the woman you love. You can’t lose your wings again, now can you? I’m well accustomed to my freedom. The responsibility would be exhausting.”

She smiled then, with a sliver of real mirth. “Speaking of ingrates!”

“Were we? I hadn’t noticed.”

She let herself tip against his waiting shoulder. Her feathertips scritched his back, and he hummed in appreciation.

“It’s true,” she murmured. “She isn’t her father. She’s his image in reverse, his anathema. But she is made of him. He was a part of her once, and - so was he a part of me. Remembering what unites us sickens me.”

“Then let it go. So what if he spawned her? One quick spurt and his part was finished. Thistlewit and the rest of them are more her real parents than Stefan ever was. She’s a woman in her own right, Aurora is. You think too little of her.”

“But Diaval - ” She swallowed the lump beginning to assault her throat. “If I must admit she’s grown, then that means she’s capable of wounding. And oh, I couldn’t bear to be wounded by her!”

The lump curdled into salty tears. She let them come, studiously ignoring Diaval’s surprise. He had seen her wrath and her wingless body. After sixteen years, he could see her weep.

He lay a hand on her shuddering shoulders. The sky began to blush, and at last she raised her head. Neither of them spoke, until -

“She will wound you, Maleficent,” Diaval said finally. He looked up into the clouds as he spoke, as though seeking counsel from the skies that had reared him. “She will stomp on your heart with her pretty feet, and you will slice hers up with your tongue. That’s how it works. Unharmed but unloved. Hiding from one means you won’t get the other. And I won’t let you hide from her forever. You’ll make her yours if I have to - to put myself in your debt forever to see it.”

“You are a fierce one, Diaval.” Maleficent chuckled. “I’m used to fierce. She is so soft. Can she stand up to all that I am? All that I’ve buried?”

“She could if you gave her a chance, half-wit!” Diaval cried, and he did what only Diaval was allowed to do: he cuffed her about the feathers, smirking. “The mighty Maleficent, born of the Moors to the finest fair blood, bowed and crippled by love. What a sight!”


	4. Chapter 4

And so she came to the glen.

She’d awoken at midday sun. Diaval was dozing in the grass, limbs akimbo. He never did look quite right like that, not while he slept. “Into a raven,” she whispered, and she swore she glimpsed a grateful smile even in his sleep.

She took a long bath that afternoon. She called on the dearest of the fair folk, from the wallerbogs to ancient Mr. Chanterelle. They were always trembling to see her, and her heart needed some of their gladness. At dusk she dressed her hair and cinched fresh robes over her waist. Simpler than the night before. She caught her reflection in the wallerbogs’ pond, and she started at how she, Maleficent, looked almost vulnerable. Ready to be wounded, should Aurora elect to break her heart that night. Diaval’s mocking rolled to the fore of her memory. The mighty Maleficent, bowed and crippled by love. It wasn’t a bad look on her, really.

And there Aurora stood, slim and strong, a great incandescent stalk lit by mettle and mirth. “Godmother! Oh, I knew it. I knew it!”

“Am I so predictable?” Maleficent cocked an eyebrow, playing - she hoped - at the haughtiness she’d come to expect in herself. Aurora hadn’t unglued her completely.

“To me you’re as open as a book.” Aurora took Maleficent’s hands in hers and tugged impishly. “Come! I’ve something to show you.”

They wended away past swamp and stream, until Aurora stilled them. “Look!” She grinned at the canopy before them. A stand of trees stood clustered, knit with moss and draped in gently folding tendrils.

“I found this place ages ago,” she said. “I was...saving it, I suppose.”

“Aurora…” Maleficent was awed. A corner of the Moors she’d never seen before, found by a human girl's jaunt! “It’s beautiful. You’ve got a gift for this place; I hope you know that. It understands you, and you it.”

“Only because I understand you, Godmother."

The sunshine girl led them to the center of the knot. And then she reached up and did what every shaking mote of her head dreamed about: she dipped Maleficent’s face to her own and kissed her, full and throaty and mad. She gnashed her perfect teeth and drove her tongue between Maleficent’s lips. It wasn’t like the last time, shy and experimental. This time she kissed thirstily, and her face was brighter than ever when she finally pulled away.

“Beastie! Who knew you had it in you?”

“I’m sixteen now, Maleficent. I’ve thought about things.” She drew a deep, warbling breath. “I do...want things, you know. Even things you think might scare me. You don’t really know me yet, but I want you to.”

“Bloody little minx.” Maleficent knit her hands around Aurora’s waist. In spite of herself, in spite of nascent panic, her desire was so vast she could barely reckon with it. Her heart was pocketed in fear, but her thighs were wet; body and brain fought mightily.

“Maleficent,” Aurora whispered. She traced Maleficent’s chin, her angles, the swags of forest-brown hair; Maleficent purred. “Maleficent, my love, tonight you are going to be mine. Just mine. I will show you how completely you are free of him, and then…” She cradled her lover’s neck. “I’ll take you for myself instead.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet! Saddle up, for the shameless smut begins...
> 
> (Yes, I know love doesn't actually cure PTSD. Neither does sex. Damn if it isn't hot, though.)

First she laid her down. Aurora had carved a soft cranny in the roots and beckoned Maleficent supine. She tucked a pat of moss behind the horned head, and then she set about undressing her. Her fingers danced with the ties of Maleficent’s dress. Slowly she revealed a collarbone, two slim breasts, a hollow of belly and the slope below. She pulled the last of the fabric away and drew sharp breath: Maleficent was naked beneath her, pale and grand and ineffably fae. Her limbs were long and spindly, knit from spidersilk and sea. Her veins were soft branches, and the serifs curled sweetly under the vellum of her skin. The faery’s beauty was strange and stark. Maleficent was the Moors itself spun into flesh. Her body was a map of the place: a waterfall where her neck swept into collarbones, a grove where her hips pitched inward. 

_ I understand this place because I understand  _ you _ ,  _ Aurora had said, and she meant it. To know the Moors was to know their protector. Maleficent’s body was wedded to the land. Her bones were its anchor and her wings its soaring potential, and Aurora felt, with a shudder of her lungs, what her father had really done. He had choked out the pulse of the place. He had snipped its beauty into ribbons, and for sixteen years it had suffocated, its terrestrial heart barely beating.

It made Aurora furious. All the more bent on defending the land she’d been tasked with ruling, and all the more fervent in loving the faery who was lashed to it. She would catch that fury. She would funnel it into her bones and fill Maleficent’s form with it. She would scratch and bite and rend the fierce adoration into every muscle. She would make her mark on the land. She would scrub her father’s stain away.

She bent and kissed the faery’s trembling mouth. Her naked body squirmed, desire bucking against reticence. Aurora was seized with purpose. She cast about for Maleficent’s dress, flung sidelong into the brush. She took it in her hands and she knotted the faery’s wrists with it, tenderly lashing bone to stark white bone. 

_ There _ . Maleficent’s arms stretched above her horned head, yearning for Aurora’s purchase. Her ribs nudged against Aurora’s chest; her small breasts were flushed.

“Oh beastie, please…”

“Please what?” Aurora grinned, savoring. “What is it that you want, Maleficent? Tell your beasite, and maybe she’ll decide to provide it.”

“I need - ”

“Oh, my silly faery. Needing a human girl? How  _ choice _ .” She lowered her lips to one plummy nipple, loving the marks her teeth could etch. The faery’s cries wrapped around her eardrums. They rose, slowly, to the pitch Aurora had heard in her dreams. She was dazed with love, assaulted by it. How she’d imagined this! When she could bear the waiting no longer, she slithered down Maleficent’s chest, feeling magic crackle with every inch. She parted her lover’s thighs, and gasped.

Maleficent didn’t look like her, not exactly. She was thinner and sparser and much less human. Her lips were petals on some neverwhere flower, while Aurora’s own were firmly flesh. Plump where Maleficent’s were fine. Aurora had dreamed of this moment since she’d first learned how to dream, but there were mountains and rivers between flights of fantasy and the fact of a cunt. Of the fact that it was Maleficent’s.

Suddenly Aurora couldn’t bear to touch her. To do so would make this moment fleshly. To turn it suddenly and irrevocably real, and Aurora wasn’t ready yet. Just a little longer in her pocket of fantasy. Just a few more moments to revel in the tension, to savor Maleficent’s need before she brought it to being.

And so Aurora stood. She took a long, thirsty look at the faery trussed beneath her, and she began, ever so slowly, to undress herself. The sunshine girl labored over every tie, every hook and grommet, a little slower every time the faery’s lust shone too nakedly. She could see the war behind Maleficent’s eyes. The panic flaring in her liquid pupils, and the sheen of pleasure beginning to eclipse it. Aurora would tame her yet.

Her dress dropped at last. There she was: gradients of pink and soft gold, a well-turned waist beckoning hands to its curve. Aurora knew she was lovely. It was a fact, a birthright of nature itself. But now she was all the more burnished by Maleficent’s longing. She watched the bound faery begin to squirm, her wings trembling against the underbrush, and Aurora could wait no longer. She slid to the ground and straddled Maleficent, pinning her feathers to the moss.

She watched the panic flare again, a crackle of acrid memory. But Aurora held fast. She tucked her face against the faery’s and smiled softly.

“It’s me, Godmother,” she murmured. “It’s your beastie, and tonight I am a beast. I am claiming you for my very own. Because you are magic poured into form, my darling, and maybe the world doesn’t appreciate it…” She traced a fingertip against the innermost feather, and the resulting shiver almost bucked them both. “But I do. I always will. It would be an honor to tame you, my love.”

She lowered her lips to the faery’s neck. Her breath was a tease, and Maleficent’s muscles rose and lengthened in reply, a dance of private instinct. And then she bit.

Aurora had promised to make her mark on the land, and she started with Maleficent’s lips, her neck, her alabaster collarbones. She drove her teeth into pale flesh until the faery cried out, and when she did, Aurora’s mettle only rose, her fists clenching on gnashing feathers. 

“Beastie, I - it’s too much - ”

“No such thing.” Aurora raised her lips and grinned. “Just let it go, darling. Let it come. Let it break you open. I’ll put you back together.”

She took a plummy breast in her mouth, and Maleficent arched obediently. She thrashed harder this time when Aurora bit down. A little more violent. A little closer to breaking her bounds.

When the faery’s ache was deep enough, trembling enough, when the rage had reached a trenchant simmer, Aurora knew. She traced her lips against her lover’s form. She kissed each rib and the hollow between them, and folded hipbones stretching white vellum thin. Finally her lips nudged Maleficent’s thighs apart, Her breath cradled the soft pearl between them, and Aurora was cowed, suddenly, by how hungry she was. How eager to fill her mouth with her lover’s whimpering pleasure. 

She shivered. Her own thighs were damp, but she could attend that later. She cradled Maleficent’s hips in firm hands and began her ministrations. Tenderly at first, her lips featherlight. Then harder, seeking greater purchase, and finally she bit. The faery wailed and her wings beat the ground in agony. “Oh, Aurora…”

Aurora raised her face. “Yes, my love?”

“Aurora, I can’t. There’s too much in me; the ache is too deep. I couldn’t bear to taint you with it…”

Aurora took Maleficent’s face in her palm. She smoothed her cheek and tucked a swag of hair behind the faery’s ear. With her other hand, she roamed Maleficent’s waist, past her hipbones’ hollow, closer, closer...until she nudged two fingers inside. “Try me.”

The faery’s hips caught the rhythm of Aurora’s hand and carried it. Her whimper rose from somewhere deep and atavistic: she was in pain, Aurora knew, but it was a pain she needed. A pain that would simmer, soon enough, into sharp relief.

Aurora bent forward, her fingers still working. “You need this,” she whispered. “I can feel it, darling. Say it. Say it to me. You want to…”

Maleficent’s eyes had fluttered closed. She shook her head softly, her lips parting. “Oh…”

“Say it.” Aurora’s fingers curled punishingly. “I want to hear you.”

“I need it, Aurora!” The words burst out of her. Her mouth was twisted; her eyes were wet.

“Good girl.” Aurora smiled slyly. “My darling. My strange, beautiful love. Let it go now. Let it happen. I’ll catch you.”

She lowered her lips once more to Maleficent’s nether ones, and then - the faery’s release came screaming forth. Her cunt seized Aurora’s hand. Her stomach rippled, and her bound wrists reddened with strain. And lo! her wings beat, keen with the strength Aurora’s ministrations had wrung back into them. Her body, in that moment, was a jag of lightning, lit with calamity, and Aurora was dizzy with what she had wrought. 


End file.
